


Dig a Little Deeper

by china_nightingale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Redemption?, at least growth, enemy to friend to wingman (neville & draco)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-05-14 09:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19270813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_nightingale/pseuds/china_nightingale
Summary: Sometimes a second chance is all you need to move on with your life.Sometimes that second chance comes with an unexpected friendship.And sometimes that friend is a pain in the arse who is most certainly never going to be forgiven.Or: in which Malfoy and Longbottom become Draco and Neville, and Neville does some subtle maneuvering on the side.





	1. Don't Matter Where You Come From

The trials after the War were long and relentless. Death Eaters and those associated, friendly or acquainted with Voldemort’s gatherings were all tried in due time. Magical dampeners were placed on the lucky under house arrest; the unlucky were kept in wizarding-space cells under the DMLE holding cells; the wretched were kept in Azkaban. The Malfoy family were lucky enough to house a full set, one in each, and Draco found himself glad for his place underground. His mother was able to stay in the Manor, where she was certainly planning a complete refurbishment at the very least, and he wasn’t subject to the horrid, wet cold of the wizarding prison.

 

By the time he appeared before the Wizengamont, Draco had had plenty of time to reflect on his choices and his luck. It was only this that held back the sneer when Potter of all people came forward to speak for him.

 

His name, which really was the only thing he had going for him, was ruined. The sins of the father shall be visited upon the sons, a Muggle priest had told him as he sat at a table of similarly sorry-looking folk. But, Draco thought to himself, it wasn’t just his father’s sins that had gotten him into this mess.

 

It was his own pig-headedness, his own inability to look past his biases and actually listen to any of the education he’d been provided at Hogwarts. He’d alienated his teachers, his peers, the few friends he deemed worthy of the title, Merlin! He really had been a little shit. But unlike the consequences of other teen stupidity, his had a body count and the near destruction of the wizarding world in Britain.

 

Despite his original plan, he found he could not stay away from the wizarding world for too long. The call of the magic in his blood was too strong and he longed to sit over a cauldron again. Stirring the soup in the church kitchens wasn’t quite as satisfying.

 

The first time he snuck into the gardens, it was an honest mistake. He’d been walking through the woods to avoid the road and completely missed that he’d stepped over an ankle-height wall. It wasn’t until he stepped in a muddy puddle and reached down to feel dejectedly at his wet sock that he realised he must be on private property. His fingers brushed against the leaves of a plant, the magic of it tingling on his fingertips. A Sopophorus plant! A quick look, a worried lip, a split-second decision and suddenly a bean was in his pocket and he was rushing back over the low brick barrier.

 

Under the cover of darkness in his cot, he felt at the bean in his pocket. If there were more plants like this in the oddly unwarded garden, he might be able to collect enough small things to brew again. He should not have gone back. But he did. Again and again. And that was how he got caught.

 

He crouched low, swearing internally at the sheer stupidity of making his trips so routine. Of _course_ someone would notice the small odds and ends he’d been taking. He’d gotten comfortable and with comfort brought boldness. Idiot!

 

“Look, you can skulk about all night if you fancy, but the storm is blowing in and it isn’t meant to let up until morning. Feel free to come in for a cuppa, or nick off back from whence you came. Just thought I’d offer.”

 

The face was hidden by the shadow from the light behind, but something irked Draco about the voice. He hesitated, and the voice huffed.

 

“Come _on_ ,” it insisted, and suddenly Draco recognised it. Of course, a bloody Gryffindor offering refuge to an unknown entity in their garden. How very typical.

 

“I wondered why the garden wasn’t warded, but now I know,” he called out, stepping forward and trying his best not to shiver.

 

Longbottom’s eyes widened only slightly in surprise, and he leant very deliberately against the door to push it open again. “Herbology, Astronomy and Potions are three types of magic that don’t need wands, and you can access them all here. It’s not fair to stop magical folk from being magical. Although if you keep stealing potions ingredients I’m going to have to ask if you’ve got a safe space to brew.”

 

The wind picked up as the storm grew closer and Draco couldn’t help but wrap his arms around his sodden self. “If I say no, are you going to let me in and then snitch on me?”

 

The Gryffindor made the same face his mother did when someone suggested her roses were only fairly-well kept. “Don’t be stupid. There’s a perfectly good space for brewing here if you need it.”

 

Longbottom looked intently at Draco; he felt more exposed than he had under the eyes of the entire Wizengamont. The wind plastered his wet hair across his face but he didn’t dare move to brush it away. His trousers were simple, his shirt almost threadbare, his shoes slightly too large, and his jacket certainly not weatherproof. He had wanted to start fresh, and he wanted to do it properly, and his family signet ring only held so much value in the Muggle world. He clenched his jaw against the cold and wet and tried to hold his shoulders a little squarer. Longbottom looked him over and, eventually, the other man nodded.

 

“Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.”

 

“After everything I did to you? What the Death Eaters did to your family?” Draco blurted out, confused by this apparent kindness.

 

“It doesn't matter where you come from, it matters where you’re going,” Longbottom said patiently, gesturing inside. “So are you coming in or not?”


	2. Make Yourself a Brand New Start

“It should be **our** names on the paper,” Neville insisted for the fourth time that evening. To be fair, the first time had been much more eloquently argued, the second only a little stroppy, and the third had been half-shouted across the bar before Draco had insisted on paying and nearly dragging Neville bodily from the pub. This time was slurred and blurry and… when did Nev get so wobbly?

 

“No one wants to read something with my name on it,” Draco insisted, the words thick and careful in his mouth as he manoeuvred them through the cobbled streets towards Neville’s cottage. Good grief, the man was a dead weight when drunk.

 

It had only been a few short months since Neville had almost dragged Draco in from the storm and in those weeks the weather had brightened considerably. A tentative charitable-slash-collegial ceasefire had been struck. Neville allowed Draco to continue harvesting potions ingredients under the conditions that he brewed in the cottage and helped with the upkeep of the garden while Neville was away sourcing new and exotic plants. Draco managed to work his way through most of the sixth- and seventh-year curriculum that he’d missed and found that he still had a knack for potioning. Most surprisingly of all, the two young men were now on a first-name basis.

 

There were certainly bad days (and worse days) where Draco could palpably feel the pity rolling off Longbottom and he stormed off back to the church kitchens to hack wretchedly at unsuspecting vegetables. But those days were thinning out now that he had come to understand that Neville just actually was that stupidly nice, and Neville came to understand that no amount of growth would change the fact that Draco was a Malfoy and a Black: prideful, fierce, stubborn, ambitious.

 

Thinning to the point that when Draco had been fidgeting about for four straight days without brewing anything that Neville had mustered the courage to call out into the garden, “Anything I can help with?”

 

Draco stopped from where he’d been wandering about the herbs and sighed, running his hands over his face. “I’ve been thinking about the Cure for Dragon Pox and how it uses Mimbulus mimbletonia flesh; how it’s a really difficult plant to cultivate,” he said, not raising his voice to be heard over the distance but knowing that if Neville was really bothered he’d get the gist.

 

Dropping the hand shielding his eyes from the sun, Neville wandered deeper into the garden to stand at the end of the row Draco was pacing and still talking.

 

“And I was thinking, since it’s so rare, whether there’d be something suitable to substitute for it. But most other acidic plants that have a haemostatic property are just as rare or too volatile. There’d be no point in substituting them because they’d be just as difficult to obtain, or difficult to work with. But now the idea is in my head and I’ve been through most of the Herbology books in your study-” Draco pointedly ignored Neville’s look of incredulous shock, “-but I just wanted to get out and wait for inspiration to bloom or something stupid.”

 

Giving himself a moment to recover from the fact that Draco had just helped himself to the study, Neville rubbed his temples between his forefinger and thumb. “Stinging nettles are a common non-magical plant that’s been historically used by Muggles for blood things; I can’t remember exactly though and I don’t know about its suitability for potions though,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.

 

When he was met with nothing but silence, he glanced up to see Draco looking like a scolded child. He winced.

 

“Sorry, I know that’s probably not helpful-”

 

“No, it’s fine. Great, even.” Draco’s voice was thin; caught in his throat with the embarrassment that flushed his cheeks. “I hadn’t even thought of unutilised non-magical ingredients,” he mumbled shamefully.

 

They stood awkwardly in the garden under the prickling sun, the sound of bumblebees the only thing interrupting the silence.

 

Neville broke first. “Well, I was going to make a cup of tea, if you wanted one. I could grab out a book of old folk medicines if you wanted to take it with you tonight?”

 

The Cure for Dragon Pox turned out to be a far too ambitious start but after many more cups of tea, the two men had managed to come up with half a dozen ways to substitute or bolster rare potions plants with mundane alternatives. After one successful trial of Ballota nigra in a salve for infected gnome-bites, they’d decided to swap out the tea for something stronger.

 

Neville had dragged Draco to the local pub to celebrate and discuss their apparently upcoming, award-winning publication of their soon-to-be-numerous findings. And now, Draco was dragging their sorry arses back to Neville’s cottage.

 

Back through that blasted marsh puddle, if his wet socks were anything to go by.

 

They managed to make their way through the front door and into the living room where the couch wavered and almost transfigured into a bed at his presence. Given his propensity to brew and study until he couldn’t stand, Draco only ever stayed at the shelter when he and Neville had a proper row. “First thing I do when I’ve got Knuts again, after buying you some rounds back, is buying another pair of socks!” he grumbled.

 

Neville went so still and quiet that Draco was worried he’d passed right out standing up. He gave the Gryffindor a sharp prod and was greeted by the reddest face he’d ever seen.

 

“What have you done?”

 

Neville mumbled something incomprehensible into the collar of his shirt and made to grab the blanket and pillow from the ottoman. Draco pulled him to the couch and collapsed on it, dragging Neville down with him. “What have you done?”

 

“Look, _maybe_ you’ve got some Galleons because _maybe_ I’ve been putting a cut aside for you.”

 

Something fizzed in Draco’s chest, almost unfamiliar given the distance of time; an ember of something like promise or hope or future. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to it, so he simply poked Neville again. When Neville simply shrugged, he continued poking until, eventually, he relented.

 

“Got about six-hundred Galleons sitting away for you, you know? All those little tinctures and fertiliser things you’re making for the gardens help out a lot and it’s only fair you be paid for all the time you spend here when you could be doing anything!”

 

It was Draco’s turn to be silent. The ember of ambition flared a little brighter. He was far too over-served to articulate what he was feeling, but, “Thank you. That’s just… If you hadn’t,” he huffed and threw his arm over his eyes, “That means so much.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Neville said, standing unsteadily and heading for his bedroom with one hand against the wall to keep upright. “Friends don’t screw each other over.”

 

The couch shifted beneath Draco’s heavy limbs, but his heart felt just a little bit brighter before sleep overtook him.


	3. Blue Skies and Sunshine Guaranteed

At the clearing of Neville’s throat _again_ , Draco looked up from the travel application he was filling in. His friend wanted Draco to accompany him on the trip to South Africa this time, to see the Encephalartos woodii and hopefully take a magical sample to bring back and study. The tree was extinct in the wild and Neville was keen to find if there was a suitable magical plant to graft with the cycad and encourage reproduction. If he could pull it off, then Draco might be able to use it to bolster the girding class of healing compresses.

 

If he could get the paperwork done so that he could leave the country.

 

Neville didn’t even flinch at the glare sent his way, throwing Draco’s coat at him and declaring, “I told you not to worry about that until tomorrow. We’re going to be late for the Leaky’s Official Grand Reopening and I know Hannah scares you as much as she does me.”

 

Draco sighed at the mess his coat made as it clattered across his desk, attempting a wandless tidying charm that only half-worked before thrusting his arms into his sleeves with more force than strictly necessary. “We were there last week when she opened it for everyone that matters. I even had a civil conversation with Ronald Weasley, I’ll have you know.”

 

“Padma ran interference and you know it,” Neville sniped with good humour. “Besides, if I leave without you, then how are you ever going to practice your Apparition? Might end up in Londonderry, and then where would you be?”

 

Their arms linked as they reached the front porch of Neville’s cottage and Draco turned to the Gryffindor with a sigh. “I’d be in Londonderry,” he said dryly, Apparating them right into some bushes in St James’ Park.

 

When they eventually did make it to the Leaky Cauldron, Draco settled himself into the couch by the front door. He wasn’t against conversation, but he didn’t feel up to mindless chitchat while his brain tried to give him reasons that the Ministry could use to refuse his fourteenth travel application in as many months. He was surprised they hadn’t refused him yet. Better to find a spot that people would fear to commit to, and leave him with his thoughts.

 

He watched comfortably as others entered, exclamations and greetings flooding through the room with every other arrival. Neville interrupted him briefly to hand over a pint of something before wandering over to start up a conversation with...

 

Draco sputtered the sip of ale back into the glass, turning into his shoulder to try and hide his cough. When had Harry bloody Potter shown up? They’d been in the same room a few times over the last year, especially recently since the repairs to Hogwarts were winding down and their social group had more time to mingle, but last he’d heard Harry was off to Romania to study with one of the Weasley brothers. Draco hadn’t thought he’d have to avoid him politely for a long while yet.

 

Working with dragons might do the man more good, Draco thought. The work at Hogwarts had tempered some of the sorrow in Potter’s features, but his hair was as unruly as ever and his olive skin was paling from his time indoors. It gave the idiot a vulnerable wanness that he didn’t much appreciate, and he really… oh no.

 

He really had been caught staring straight at Potter.

 

By Potter. And Neville.

 

Who approached the sanctuary of his couch with absolutely no regard to his increasingly anxious state of mind.

 

It was his friend who sat next to him, thank Salazar, but Harry propped himself against the arm of the couch so he could be seen clearly over Longbottom’s head. That traitor.

 

“Neville said you helped to advance the cuttings to get Greenhouse Six properly stocked? Pomona was over the moon to have the cultivation house up and running to start spring term.” Potter picked with the label on his bottle. His hands were finer than Draco’s, the blond realised ruefully. The last year of brewing and gardening and burning his fingers on the stove had calloused his hands more than Quidditch ever had.

 

At the nudge of his knee, he blinked dumbly at Neville.

 

“Harry’s saying thanks, you berk,” he grinned, rolling his eyes and leaning forward to place his glass on the low table before them.

 

“Well, from Professor Sprout mostly, but also from me,” Potter mumbled. “I know a lot of people aren’t happy about the Wizengamont’s ruling but you’re really,” he waved a hand about vaguely, “I don’t know, dealing with it? You might’ve been a shit in class but you always knew how to get your bread buttered. And you always worked for it.” Potter kept his eyes lowered, like was concerned he was saying too much. And he was. Draco could feel the flush rising from his collar. This was the most Potter had ever said to him without one or the other attempting insult.

 

Neville, ignoring the awkwardness with a boldness only a bloody Gryffindor could possess, powered right on with the conversation as though nothing strange had happened at all. “Anyway, I know that you’ve been thinking of getting off my couch for a bit now you’ve got some money coming in and Harry mentioned that he’s keen to live in London when he’s this side of the Channel so I thought that, since I don’t know a thing about Muggle housing, he could give you a hand to look at apartments. He’s lined up some places with an agent this weekend.”

 

“I can’t just pop into London whenever I feel like it, Nev,” Draco started, finding his voice finally; his stare attempting to bore holes into Neville’s skull.

 

“There’s Seamus!” Longbottom shouted, rising from his spot on the couch and abandoning Draco with a smirk and a wave. “We don’t leave ‘til Monday so may as well make use of the weekend,” he called over his shoulder as he weaved through the crowd.

 

Draco watched after his retreating form long enough that Potter should have moved on to join them, or at least just move on. When he leant back into the soft leather of the couch, he almost jumped in surprise to find that the other man had slid into the now-no-longer-vacant space next to him.

 

“Neville says you’ve been amazing, actually. With the research and stuff. Said that it was your idea about the… shit,” he chuckled self-depreciatingly, turning the nearly-peeled bottle in his hands, “I don’t know. Something about the Skele-Gro Poppy’s thinking of changing to. I swear, I did alright in Herbology, but I just…” he trailed off, looking aimlessly about the pub.

 

Draco let out a nervous puff of air between tight lips. “Thanks.”

 

“I can pick you up if you want. On Saturday, I mean,” Potter clarified as Draco rasped into his sleeve, bringing his elbow up to his face to hide the blush that was surely filling his cheeks now. “Apparition is a pain at the best of times but we can’t exactly bring broomsticks apartment hunting.”

 

Giving himself a brief moment behind closed eyes to try and compose himself, Draco nodded. “Sure. Great. Who’d want to fly in this weather anyway?” he muttered, mostly to himself to try and keep his sanity.

 

Potter drained the last of his drink, leaving the bottle on the table as he stood. “Meant to clear up this weekend. You never know.” He shot a polite smile at Draco as he head back into the crowd, making his way for the unmistakable hair of Granger.

 

Draco leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees, trying to shelter the fledgling fire in his core. Looking around the room he realised that he hadn’t been on the receiving end of open disdain all evening, despite Neville motioning to him in conversation now and then.

 

“Yeah. You never know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to donnarafiki for this fun prompt: 'Dig a Little Deeper' from The Princess and the Frog. I immediately knew what I wanted to write when I saw it!


End file.
